Upon the edge of a blade
by Eressie
Summary: 'The destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young man…' and Merlin copes with that in the only way he can. (Warning: self-harm)


**Upon the edge of a blade**

Writer: **Eressie**

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

Warning: self-harm!

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Me, Merlin, who is supposed to be the greatest warlock who has ever lived, is hiding in a barely used storage room. Not so great now am I?

The room is dark; the small and only window barely gives much light. The glass is dirty and numerous things almost block it completely.  
There are all kinds of stuff are in here; things that no one has seen or used for years and years. From different kind of furniture to small things like books and cutlery. Why these things are still here is a mystery. Perhaps no one has been bothered to clean this mess up. Useless things are dumped here, and things that no one knew quite what to do with.  
It looks like nobody has been here for years. None would think to look for me here. The door and the room that follows are invisible pretty much. No one cast their eyes twice at this room's door. Everyone ignores it. I barely know why. It is an excellent hiding place. I use it often. And it is not very far from prince Arthur's room. Very convenient for someone who wishes to disappear.

I sit on the dirty floor by the door beside a pile of rolled up dusty carpets. I cannot walk much further into this room anyway. There are things everywhere; stacked upon each other, looking like people just threw things in here without looking. Perhaps they did.  
I am leaning against the wall and I am hugging my legs firmly to my chest.  
Behind the door I can hear people walking by, on their way to do their usual jobs and chores. Arthur walked by a while ago as well. Maybe that is a strange thing to know; but I know his walk so well. And I recognize his steps and the way that he walks.  
I had tensed up then; half expecting him to open the door and drag me out of here. But deep inside, I knew that he would not. He is a prince and this is just an invisible room full of unused things. Arthur have been living in this castle all his life, but somehow I doubt that he know that this room exist.  
Maybe he is searching for me, he do not like it when I suddenly disappear. His steps had been quick and the way he stomped his heals in the floor when he walked by was a dead giveaway that he is angry. Probably at me. It is usually me he is angry at. I do not blame him. I am angry at myself at times. I never seem to be able to do the things I am supposed to do properly.

I try to do my servant chores but my mind is always elsewhere. I am always worrying over Camelot and its people, most of all; Arthur. The once and future king. It makes me clumsy. It makes me look like an idiot.  
I am always watching other people, looking out for suspicious movements or words. One can never be too careful. I cannot take anything lightly. If I miss something, then that could lead to something bigger. Something dangerous. Call me paranoid if you wish. I have to be.  
But it is not enough. I am not enough. I am just a scrawny servant, with a much too heavy burden on my shoulders that I am not sure I am able to carry. This destiny should belong to someone else. Someone stronger.  
My chest is almost constantly hurting and I am walking around with invisible chains around my wrists and ankles; dragging the weight of Camelot with me wherever I go.I sleep poorly many nights. Nightmares torment me. And when I wake I barely know if they are just dreams or visions of things to come.

I clear my throat. It is hurting. I keep trying to swallow the lump of pain I feel there, to no success. I try to blame the dry and dusty air for that. But it is just me being weak, again.  
My body betrays me, it wants to cry. I struggle against it. What use will it do to cry like a child? Who will that help? I try to distract my mind. Focusing on a stain on one of the floor boards, but the tears falls against my will.  
I would like to say that this is the first time that I cried since I was a child, but that of course is not the case. I cry very often these days. I am so weak and pathetic. I am glad that no one can see me.  
I try to keep silent. And I try to calm myself down. I bite down as hard as I can on my right arm in anger and frustration. It hurts. It will leave bruises but I do not care. It helps, but it is not enough.

I feel the weight of my small knife in my pocket. I always carry it with me. Even just knowing that it is there, calms me down a little. It is not used as a weapon against people who wishes to attack me; it would not do much harm to anyone. Well anyone but myself.  
For years and years I have been carrying that small blade. It almost like a lucky charm.

Hurting myself in different ways has been a habit of mine since I was a child. It made me cope better with all the mean things children and adults alike said about me. Cutting into my skin with a sharp knife has been my favorite way of harming myself since I was about twelve years old. I have been doing it even more frequently ever since I came to Camelot and found out about my destiny. I am glad to have a purpose. But it is such a heavy burden and I cannot deal with it without some sort of comfort.  
No one knows about these things. It is just another secret of mine. I am good at keeping secrets. Not even mother knows. Or maybe I pretend she does not know.

I am covered in scars. My legs, my arms, my torso… overlapping scars everywhere. It's more and more difficult to find a place to cut. Cutting through scar tissue is always harder than doing the same to untouched skin.  
I am trying to stop though. Trying to find other ways to help me cope, it is not going very well. Sometimes I manage months without the blade to my skin. I take pride in that.  
It is always very difficult though and the thought of blood and cutting are always on my mind during the hiatus, even when I feel all right. I usually deal with the pause very badly. Always feeling like a bomb ready to explode. My emotions are always on high and my mind is in constant chaos. Most of the time I end up hurting myself through other ways even if I do not always mean to. Refusing to eat is one of them; hunger is another sort of pain. Not quite as satisfactory and I always keep fainting from the most simple of things like just standing up. It is embarrassing. I prefer the blade. It's a silent comforting companion.

The knife is no longer in my pocket. As in a usual routine I have removed my shirt and I am clasping my blade in my right hand.  
I carve the first sets of wounds on the inside of my left upper arm. It stings and it hurts. The cuts are rather wide, just how I like them. I feel the warm blood cool down as it runs down my arm. It's nice. I feel myself grow calmer.  
My hand shakes a bit from the adrenaline. But I am not satisfied yet. I carve a few more, further down near my elbow. These wounds are wide as well and bleed nicely. It's fascinating to watch the red blood come out from the cut and run down my skin, and it is very soothing.  
I sigh and close my eyes as I focus on the sting on my arm. The tightness in my chest and the weight on my shoulders are temporarily gone. I feel much lighter. I feel a small smile on my lips. I always long to feel like this, so content.

I do not know how long I have been sitting there. I do not care about the time. But the wounds have now clogged up and they do no longer bleed as heavily. I remove my neckerchief and I first use it to wipe away most of the blood, then I tie it around the largest wounds on my upper inner arm as a temporarily bandage. It will do fine until I can make my way to my room to patch myself up.  
I lean my head against the wall behind me. I feel tired but content. My legs are stretched out before me now and my hands lie limply in my lap. I am relaxed and I could probably fall asleep here right now if I allowed myself to.

I stand up slowly after I put my shirt back on. My arm sting and I cannot help but to wince when I move my arm. But it is nice in a somewhat disturbing way. Most of the wounds probably need stitches, but I will leave them be. They will heal, slowly, but they will heal. Just like the rest of them.

I put my knife back in my pocket again along with my now bloody neckerchief. I try to spot any traces of blood on my hands, but it is hard to see in the dark. The window does not give much light and it is getting dark outside.  
The arm of my shirt is stained with blood though, and I wished I had something to wrap the wounds up with more properly. My jacket would be nice as well; to hide the bloodstains with. I hope I will not run into someone on my way home. But if I do, they will surely not notice anything amiss. No one ever does. No one cares enough about me to observe me more closely. Gaius might see though, but I am very good at hiding these things from him. From everybody in fact.

I open the door slowly and peek through the small opening. No one is in the hallway. I slip out from the door as quickly as I can and close the door behind me. I begin to walk away quickly just in case someone would come.  
I pass some other servants on the way and a few guards. I smile politely at them all, and the servants smile politely back. The guards ignore me. I am air to them. I am air to most people.

It is nice weather outside. I looks like it will be a warm evening even though it is autumn. That will please Gaius. He always complains that the ever growing colder weather affects his old limps in a bad way.  
The cold affects me as well, or rather it affects my scars; the heath likewise. It makes my healed scars hurt and itch like crazy. The cold also make the newly healed ones change colour, which is quite fascinating.

I am almost home when I run into the person that I have been avoiding for the last couple of hours. And he looks cross.

"Merlin," Arthur begins slowly, "care to explain to me where you have been off to all day?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Not all day…"

"MOST of the bloody day then!" he growls irritated.

"What did Gaius tell you?" I ask carefully, already dreading the answer.

"What did you think he told me? That you gone to the tavern, yet again!" Arthur shouts.

Of course Gaius would say that… he does not have much of an imagination! I suppress a groan in complaint. "Did he now? Yes, I was-"

"Stop."

I frown. "What?"

"I know that you did not go to the tavern because I was looking for you there, and guess what? You were nowhere to be found!"

…he searched for me? "Ah."

Arthur narrows his eyes at me and I try to not look away. "That's all you have to say? Ah?"

"Um, no. Hold on…"

"Why so you can come up with another lie that I will see right through? You can't lie to me, Merlin!"

I can, sorry Arthur but I always can. I am too tired to deal with this right now though…God, and why can I not come up with something to say?  
I sigh and rub my hands over my eyes. When I lower my hands again, I look at Arthur and I try to think of something to say, but my words stops in my mouth. His expression on his face has changed from anger to concern. Did he notice the blood? I hide my arms behind my back, and I am trying to make it look like any ordinary movement.

"Are you all right?" he asks with a frown.

Ah crap. "Of course, sire." I am trying to smile.

His frown deepens as he tries to look at my arms behind my back. I turn my body sideways so that my hurt arm is the one furthest away from him. And I shield it perfectly I think. Come on, brain; work!

"I was helping a farmer." I hear myself blurt out quickly. "He was injured. He had tripped and hurt himself accidentally on his scythe. That is what I have been doing; why I have been away. Gaius did not know, I am sure he just told you what he believed."

"Really?"

"Yes," I nod, "the farmer is fine now. He cut his hand but it was not too serious. I tended to his wound."

Arthur tilts his head slightly as he continues to frown a bit. "Why did you not say so in the first place? You even agreed with me that you were in the tavern."

Did I? "Um, I was there only for a quick visit, sire! To… to look for Gwaine." I force myself to chuckle slightly. "That is where one is most likely to find him after all."

"True." Arthur nods and I relax where I stand.

I watch as Arthur's expression turns natural and even a bit amused before I speak again. "If you do not require anything from me, sire, I wish to wash up a bit if I may. I still got the… farmer's blood on my shirt."

He nods and pats me on my shoulder. "Fine. You go and do that." he says. "Have the rest of the evening off, Merlin, but I'll see you extra early tomorrow morning is that clear?"

"Yes, sire." I smile slightly. "Thank you."

I give him a nod as I pass him and I can feel him watching me while I walk away.  
Somehow I doubt I fooled him this time. But hopefully that is just my paranoia talking. The prince usually believes me when I lie about these things. Most people do. I just tell them what they like to hear. One can get away with most doing that.  
My self-harming habits are to no one's concern. They would just see me like the freak that I am. I do not need that. I have enough to deal with.

The pressure of keeping my magic secret builds up more and more, the responsibility of Camelot lies heavily on my shoulders, the stress and hard work from keeping the prince safe and sound is making me ill.  
No one can find out about my way of relieving myself from the pressure through a blade. They might take that away from me if they found out and I am not sure I could handle that.

Arthur needs me, Camelot needs me- and _I _in turn need my self-harming to survive. It they take away my blades, they also take away not only mine but also their hope of surviving.  
The future can be bright indeed with Arthur as king, and Albion could become true and stop being a dream. But… it all rest upon the edge of a blade.

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End  
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Please review, it would mean a lot to me!  
/Eressie


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